The subject is Lucky, because I can’t help but think of that wonderful Radiohead song when I think about this. “Pull me out of the aircrash. Pull me out of the lake. Because I’m your superhero.”

All my life, I have been the one for friends to come to. No matter what, anyone can come to me and talk to me about anything. I would always be there, giving support, giving advice, and just being a good friend. People seem to appreciate it. Whether it’s a hug, or a kiss on the cheek, or just words of gratitude, I know I’ve helped them with something.

This fills me with joy. Because I know, deep down, helping isn’t really me. But I do it because you people mean the world to me. And I’m good at it. I can’t remember a time where I didn’t either solve a problem for someone, or have them go out of it renewed with a sense of optimism. If I can make another happy, because it’s not truly me, I think I did something right.

So, because of that, I ask, who helps the helper when he falls to his knees? Who fixes the fixer when he’s lost all his tools? Time and time again I have proven that no one helps. The only problems I can’t seem to fix are my own, and because of my sarcasm, my intelligence, and my ability to fix problems, no one tries to help. In fact, once I fix the problem, most people seem to go away from me.

I’m hurting. And I’m alone. And I know you all know it, because I’ve made it public. I just want to talk to someone, anyone, about anything. I don’t care what we talk about, I just want someone there. I need a friend. Something I don’t seem to have, but was to so many people in my days.

Besides, men aren’t supposed to cry. And I know I will, if I let it out.

“Kill me again with love.”

-Your short, blonde friend. Who you say you love, but ultimately ignore.

2 Responses to Lucky

The Good Writer

September 27, 2010 at 2:05 pm

Oh, wow. This letter just articulated everything I’ve been feeling yet never felt confident enough to say. I too, often, feel like I do so much for so many… and I don’t mind (most of the time), just because I like the feeling that comes with being able to be counted on. Just once, though… I’d like to have someone to count on and confide in, myself.

I hate feeling like I can’t even do that with the people I “save,” because it’ll make me appear less like the Superman I like them to believe I am.

I don’t really know that I can give you some solace about this matter, but I just wanted you to know that you’re NOT alone in feeling this way. If I were around, you could confide in me and I wouldn’t judge you or see you in a lesser light. I know that the “S” on one’s chest doesn’t always bear the brightest red.

Believe it or not, this does give me some solace. I knew there had to be other superheroes out there. And not all of those superheroes can have their own person to confide in.

I don’t know you, but I believe you when you say that if you knew me, you would be there. And that would be returned. Why does Batman have a sidekick? Or Alfred? Because he needs people, just like the rest of us.

I don’t have any physical fears that I can think of, but I am absolutely petrified of being alone. Unfortunately, I have faced my fear time and time again, but it doesn’t go away.

At the very least, I want someone I help to stick around. It’s beginning to seem like people use me, and then when they get what they need, they’re done. It’s not fair, and it really hurts.